


Unsatisfied

by RoseByAnyOtherName17



Series: The Lion, the Wolf and the Dragon [10]
Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Execution, F/M, Internal Conflict, Pre-Slash, Reunions, Riverrun, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-11
Updated: 2017-09-11
Packaged: 2018-12-26 09:34:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,977
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12056178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseByAnyOtherName17/pseuds/RoseByAnyOtherName17
Summary: It wasn't until three weeks later that she saw him.





	Unsatisfied

**Author's Note:**

> It's been busy guys, but here this is :) feedback welcome as always and enjoy
> 
> title from the song by Nine Black Alps

The remaining Lannisters and Freys (who had not fought) stood in the courtyard, surrounded by Northerners and Wildlings alike. The entrance they had come through was guarded by Nymeria and her wolves, as well as the drawbridge. The wolves did not enter, but remained just outside, growling lowly when any of the enemy even so much as twitched. Silence fell as Arya stepped outside with Edmure. “My name is Arya Stark,” she said, and watched the disbelief fill Lannister eyes and fear fill the Freys’. “You have lost Riverrun and all of your weapons, but that does not constitute surrender. If you wish to live, you will bend the knee and proclaim Daenerys Targaryen the Queen of Westeros, and Edmure Tully the true Lord of Riverrun. If you do not do these things, you will die here and now.”

 

“You are not Arya Stark,” a big blond Lannister man said. “She is dead.”

 

“I’m not,” Arya answered, and said nothing more.

 

It was the Freys who fell to their knees first, bowing their heads and surrendering completely. Arya looked at each one carefully, recognizing a few faces from the night of the Red Wedding. There was a man who had hoisted Robb’s headless body onto a horse; there was one who had put a bolt through Grey Wind’s head while he was defenseless in a stall. She remembered every face from that night, remembered hearing laughter from inside the great hall that the Hound had had to drag her away from. These ones would die first, she decided, these ones who bent the knee only to save their own lives. Not one Frey looked her in the eye, the way the Lannister men did when she turned her gaze upon them. But now was not the time.

 

“Put them in chains,” she ordered, “and escort them to the cells.” Led by Tormund, the Wildlings hauled the Freys roughly to their feet and shoved them inside the keep. To the remaining enemy, she said, “Cersei Lannister will die for her crimes against my family and all of Westeros. If you wish to die with her, remain standing.”

 

A few men lowered themselves to their knees, but the big blond continued to look at her. “My Lady,” he said, and the respect in his voice startled her, “you have defeated us, and if what you say is true, Daenerys Targaryen is here. Forgive me, but I cannot imagine a scenario in which we live. We lost Riverrun to you and your army, despite the odds being in our favor. Many Lannister men were lost in the space of an hour, and you lost no Wildling or Northerner in your attack. If we surrender to you and return to Her Grace in King’s Landing, she will have us punished for this defeat, with death or torture. If we do not surrender, you will have our heads. If we somehow survive our queen, _your_ queen will surely have us killed for treason.” He stood tall. “I have been loyal to the Lannisters for all of my life. If I am to die, I will die today without betraying Her Grace.”

 

Arya nodded. “I admire your loyalty,” she told him, “even if it is to a woman who would have you killed for a defeat. So be it; if you wish to die today, you will.” She drew Needle and stepped forward until she stood just in front of him. “I, Arya Stark, sentence you to die. If you have any last words, say them now.”

 

“My name is Rolf,” he said, looking her in the eye. “I was born in Flea Bottom to a woman named Rolanda. My father died when I was a babe, but my mother still lives. Will you have a raven sent to her?”

 

“I will,” Arya promised, and pushed Needle straight through his throat. He choked once, and when she pulled the blade free, he collapsed. Dead.

 

**

 

More Lannisters surrendered than not, and those who did not died the way the blond man had, with Needle through their neck and out the other side. They were taken to the cells to join the Freys, until Reylan told Arya that the cells were full and, unless they stuck three or four in each one, they could not keep every man imprisoned.

 

“The Frey men raided the nearby village,” Edmure said as explanation. “Any commoner that fought back was brought here.”

 

Arya narrowed her eyes. “Take me down,” she ordered Reylan.

 

It was not just men that had been thrown in the cells, but young boys too, not one of them older than twelve. “Why are you here?” she asked one of these boys.

 

“A man tried to rape my mother after they took my dad,” he told her quietly. “I hit him in the head with a rock.”

 

“Where is your father?”

 

The boy pointed to a cell across the hall and a few doors down. Arya took the keys and unlocked both doors. “You will be compensated for everything the Freys took from your village,” she promised, and said the same to every villager she freed. To Reylan, “Make sure they are all fed and given a chance to bathe.” In time the hall above was filled with common men, and many cells were left empty. The Lannisters and Freys were moved into these.

 

Arya herself moved among the men and their sons, asking what was taken from their homes and if they could remember any individual man that stole. “If you are agreeable, we can go to the cells again and you can tell me if you recognize a face,” she suggested to the same boy she had talked to before. To his father, she said, “I will not leave any guilty man unpunished.”

 

It was late in the evening before she finally stopped buzzing with energy, and she nearly fell asleep right there at one of the long tables between a Mormont man and an elderly fisherman from the village. But she forced herself to get up and make sure that guards were set at _every_ entrance, before quietly telling Edmure Tully that she would sleep in the chamber next to his. It was a warning and they both knew it, but he escorted her through the castle and stopped her at the door. “I understand that you do not trust me,” he said, “but you must understand why I gave Riverrun to the Lannisters. They have my wife and son and, despite our wedding being a ploy to kill yours— _our_ —family, I love them. I don’t even know them, but Jaime Lannister promised me that he would be raised at Casterly Rock in a way befitting the son of the Lord of Riverrun.”

 

Arya regarded him carefully before speaking. “There are plans in place to attack Casterly Rock,” she told him finally. “I can send a message to the armies informing them to spare your wife and son. When the fighting is over, they’ll be brought here. And if you gain my trust _and_ Daenerys Targaryen’s, I think you might be reinstated as the Lord of Riverrun for good. Your son will be Lord after you, and the Tullys will live on.” He opened his mouth, but she stepped closer and continued, “If you betray me or the queen before the war is over, you will never see your son again.”

 

“I’ll die,” Edmure said flatly.

 

“No,” Arya answered. “You will spend the rest of your days beneath this castle without ever knowing his fate.”

 

She went into her chamber without looking at him again.

 

**

 

A raven was sent to Dragonstone to inform Daenerys of their victory and, while waiting for further instruction, Arya continued to speak with the villagers. Small groups were sent home at a time with supplies to their families, with a promise that Riverrun would not forget them there. “It is a day’s ride away,” Arya said. “Should you need anything, it will be provided. Winter is here, and we must help each other if we are to survive.”

 

A few faces became familiar to her over the days as village men came forward to help, men who insisted that they take on the responsibilities of sending everyone home. It left her with more time to explore the castle and, more importantly to her, deal with the Freys. Once a day, she would have one taken from the cells and brought to her. The man would be taken to the top of the wall and given a choice: jump into the river below, or stand and be executed on the spot by Arya. Most chose the water, but none of them survived long enough to get to shore. The water was icy cold, the first sign of winter for the Riverlands, and if the cold didn’t get them, they drowned. For men who had spent most of their lives at the Twins, they were remarkably bad at swimming.

 

Arya had Walder Frey’s nephew’s son’s head sent directly to the Twins. _This is your fate,_ she wrote, and sent a rider with it. No reply came, but the rider returned alive with news that, the moment he left, the guards were doubled. Arya smirked a little, knowing that guards wouldn’t stop her any more than they had stopped her from taking Riverrun.

 

It wasn’t until, nearly three weeks after taking the castle, she saw him.

 

He wasn’t part of the village, nor was he one of the servants, which meant that he had arrived _after_ the castle was taken. One day the forge was empty, and then suddenly there was a man there, working with steel and forging swords for anyone who asked. Arya berated Tormund for not telling her the second he had gotten his new dagger from the smith, and marched to the forge to demand that he allow his belongings to be searched. But when she got there, all she could do was stare at the man’s back as he moved about, stoking a fire. His bare skin was all too familiar, muscles flexing underneath in a slow glide that she hadn’t given thought to since the last time she saw it, years ago; she had always held on so tightly to his smile to think of anything else.

 

It took her so long to find her voice that he turned around first, moving to grab a small hammer and catching sight of her in the process. “I was wondering when Milady would come and see me,” he said. Arya opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out, and the corner of Gendry’s mouth twitched up into a smirk. “It’s strange to see you quiet.”

 

“I…how did you…?”

 

“Get into the castle?” Gendry put down the hammer and took a few steps closer, gesturing vaguely toward the doorway that she was still standing in. “Through the gate, when a group of the villagers was leaving. I told the guards that I’d heard the forge was empty, and the let me right in. I’ve been pretty busy, or I would’ve come and seen you after you didn’t show up for a week.”

 

Arya swallowed hard. “I thought you joined the Brotherhood.”

 

“I did, until they got to the Twins and saw…” He didn’t need to finish the sentence. “After that, I left. I wasn’t as convinced as they were that you had died.”

 

“I almost did,” Arya admitted. “More than once.”

 

“Me too.”

 

They stared at each other for a long moment, blue eyes to grey, and Arya felt an ache in her chest. “I shouldn’t have run away,” she said. “Sometimes I wish I had stayed with the Brotherhood.”

 

“I wish you had too,” Gendry told her. “We could’ve left together. Maybe we could’ve been safer.”

 

Arya laughed, but it sounded more like a sob to her ears. “Where would we have gone?”

 

“Well, where did you go?”

 

“A lot of places, and none of them were very pleasant. Where did _you_ go?”

 

“Nowhere pleasant,” Gendry echoed, and this time her chuckle was definitely more tears than laughter. She could feel them welling up and she took a blind step forward. He met her halfway, wrapping her up in a strong embrace that she returned, arms around his waist and clutching onto him hard despite the sweat glistening on his skin. _You’re supposed to be stronger than this, damnit,_ she thought, but it was hard to care right then. He smelled like smoke and salt and dirt, familiar and completely new all at once. She wanted to stay right there, which was such a terrifying feeling that she almost let go right then. But Gendry was holding onto her tightly too, his nose tucked into her hair with one hand at the back of her neck and the other across the middle of her back. She couldn’t move if she wanted to, but she didn’t feel trapped; she felt _happy._

 

“Will you tell me about it? Where you’ve been?” Gendry asked when they finally released each other.

 

“Someday,” Arya promised, “when the war is over. But only if you tell me too.”

 

Gendry nodded, and suddenly Arya realized how close they were standing. She took a step back, looking around the forge and the weapons lining the walls. They ranged from daggers and knives, to swords and axes, to hammers, with shields dispersed among them all. “How long will you be in Riverrun?” she inquired, a little awkwardly.

 

Gendry shrugged. “I don’t know. Until you leave, I suppose, unless the Lord decides to keep me.”

 

“Considering that the identity of the Lord of Riverrun is undecided of yet…”

 

“My best option seems to be to come with you.”

 

Arya blinked. “What?”

 

Gendry turned back to the fire, hiding his face. “Since I was sent to join the Night’s Watch, there were only a few people I trusted. There was Yoren, and he died. There was Hot Pie, and he decided to stay at the inn. And there was you. You left too, but you didn’t want to leave me behind, I know. You protected me, and I protected you. If I come with you now, I’ll be the safest I can be, I know that. And you’ll be safer with me at your side too.”

 

Arya shook her head. “There’s no guarantee of your safety with me.”

 

“I’ll be with someone I trust though.” Gendry finally looked back at her, eyes blazing with determination. “A friend, the best I ever had. Where else am I going to go?”

 

“I’m fighting a war,” Arya protested, though she didn’t know why she was; the second he had said he wanted to come with her, it was the only outcome she could imagine being happy with. “I may be fighting another before this one even ends. If you stay with me, you could die.”

 

“It doesn’t matter.”

 

“How can it not matter?”

 

“I don’t have anywhere else to go!” Gendry came close enough to grab her shoulders, forcing her to look at him. “I don’t have a family, I don’t have a home, I have nothing! You told me once that you could be my family, Arya, and I said no, but I was wrong. The Brotherhood wasn’t a family, they were—” He stopped, breathing in deep. “Your war now is with Daenerys Targaryen, against the Lannisters, who wanted me dead a long time ago. They would kill me on the spot if I went to King’s Landing and told them who I was. When winter comes, I’ll just as soon die of cold than be killed by an enemy. It’s colder every night, I can feel it, even in here where the fire is always going. Better to die fighting with someone I care for than cold and starving and alone.”

 

“You don’t even know me anymore,” Arya said quietly. “I’m not who I was, Gendry.”

 

“Neither am I. Will you have me anyway?” His gaze softened a little, but he didn’t let go of her shoulders, and suddenly she felt embarrassed.

 

“Don’t be stupid,” Arya muttered. “Of course I will.”

 

She left soon after, because a Mormont man came in asking if Gendry could mend his armor, and because if she stayed much longer she would do something stupid like cry or hug him again.

 

**

 

Gendry got along tremendously with Tormund, sparring with him in the yard with a hammer and axe in each hand. “You don’ fight fair,” Tormund panted, sprawled out on the ground holding his chest where Gendry had kicked him. “You would’ve made a good Wildling.”

 

Gendry grabbed his hand and heaved him back to his feet. “I’m not so sure,” he said, but didn’t offer anything more. He whirled around to block Arya’s swing with Needle. When she pulled away to duck low and avoid his hammer, there was a deep notch in the handle of the axe. He tried to kick her too, the way he had Tormund, but she danced backward and tapped his leg with the flat of her blade, swinging around his axe to come up behind him and press the tip of Needle to the back of his neck, the way she had been going for in the first place. The whole exchange took less than a minute.

 

“How did you know I was coming?”

 

“The grass crunched under your toes,” Gendry answered, turning to look at her so that Needle rested lightly against his throat. “You forgot that the ground froze last night; you should have distributed your weight more evenly.”

 

Arya raised an eyebrow, impressed.

 

A raven had come from Daenerys, telling them to stay put for the moment; Casterly Rock had been taken, but the Tyrells were under siege. “They’re one of the richest houses,” Arya explained to Tormund when he asked why the Lannisters were trying to take Highgarden instead of taking back their own home. “If they fall, Cersei has all of the gold.” It was a complication that even Varys hadn’t foreseen; it left the Dothraki trapped in the Westerlands and the Tyrells immobile. When Tormund suggested they send a small force to help, Arya shook her head. “If we leave Riverrun, we leave it open to an attack from the Freys. It wouldn’t make a difference anyways, not with the size of the Lannister army.” But his words had her thinking now.

 

The problem would be getting away undetected. She was only ever alone during the night, and even then, she slept in the chamber next to Edmure, who was guarded at all hours. It would not be a quick journey to the Twins, a couple of weeks at best. Someone would have to be left in charge of Riverrun in her absence, and if Daenerys found out that she had disobeyed the direct order to stay…

 

But something had to be done about the Freys. They were not attacking yet, but it was only a matter of time before Walder Frey decided that Arya’s blatant threat and the executions of his men could not go unpunished. They could be left alone until the end of the war, but then what? The Twins would not be as easily taken as Riverrun had been, and they held much of the Riverlands’ supplies, because even the Freys were not so stupid as to believe that winter was not well on its way. They could not hold siege over the stronghold, and if Daenerys simply burned it to the ground, those supplies would be lost and Arya would not get her revenge, which was simply unacceptable. _They will surrender to Daenerys when she is queen,_ Arya reminded herself, but when it came time to execute them, she would not get the satisfaction of seeing the fear in their eyes when they realized they had no time to prepare for death.

 

She went about as normally as she could, and for the most part, no one noticed a difference in her. Lyanna Mormont began training with her privately, first with a dagger and then with a smaller version of a broadsword made by Gendry specifically for the girl. Lyanna was clumsy, having never touched a blade before in her short life, but she was determined, and Arya was patient with her. It was unlikely that Lyanna would ever be on the frontlines of a fight, which was why she also insisted to be taught how to shoot, but Arya was the mind that none of them could be too prepared.

 

Gendry stopped in the middle of training with her one evening to regard her with a serious look. “Tell me what you’re thinking about,” he said. Arya made to protest, but he went on before she could with, “I know you’ve been mulling over something for the last several days, don’t deny it. You’ve got something on your mind.”

 

“I want to go to the Twins and kill the rest of the Freys.”

 

The words came out without her permission, and she knew Gendry’s surprise was mirrored on her own face. But she couldn’t stop now. “Every day I stay here, in my mother’s old home, is another day that Walder Frey has the satisfaction of murdering my family without consequence. I can kill all of his men down in those cells and send as many heads of as many grandchildren or nephews that I want, but he and the rest of his family are holed up in their castle. Daenerys can win the war and have me execute them after, but it won’t be the same. They’ll know that their death is coming. I want them to die without being ready.”

 

Gendry stared at her for a long time, expression unreadable, and Arya finally looked away. She had said too much, she knew, revealed too much about herself that Gendry didn’t know. He had already known that she wasn’t that little girl looking for a way back to her family, but now he knew she was cruel.

 

She was about to turn away, make an excuse that he wouldn’t believe and walk back into the castle, when he said, “How soon would we leave?”

 

She blinked, completely caught off guard. “What?”

 

“How soon would we go? The trip there and back will take a couple of weeks at best, so you leaving will be noticed by just about the entire castle.” He was unknowingly putting her thoughts out into the open. “You can’t just sneak away if you don’t want a search party put out for you, so you need a believable reason to be gone for that long. You won’t be allowed to go alone, it doesn’t matter that you’re Lady Stark, sister of the King in the North, so you would need to pick someone you trust and that’s capable of fighting if need be. That would be me.”

 

Arya felt her mouth open, but no words came out for a long moment. “Why would you do that for me?”

 

“Because you’re my best friend,” Gendry answered. He shrugged a little. “I want you to be happy. And you would do the same for me,” he added, more of an afterthought than anything else.

 

Arya couldn’t think of anything else to say. She was shocked by his reaction, warmed by his display of loyalty, and so full of affection for him that her heart ached. His mouth twitched up into a smile when she continued to gaze at him in silence. “Unless Milady would rather I forget this whole thing and never speak of it again.”

 

“Don’t call me Milady,” she said automatically, the affection suddenly tinged with irritation.

 

“As Milady commands.” She went to give him a push and he dodged, laughing, eyes shining. It made her think of Jon Snow’s words about love. It made her smile.


End file.
